It Means ToneDeaf in Japanese
by safra
Summary: Interesting bets lead to interesting situations. Version 1.0.


     --It Means 'Tone-Deaf' in Japanese--

   The honor of a Slytherin might seem like an ironic thought, but it is absolutely essential. After all, the House could never have acquired its reputation for ambition and avarice if it had been founded on empty threats. A Slytherin's word is something to be taken seriously. It was days like this that made Severus Snape wish this wasn't so.

~

   "Miss Granger, despite your enthusiasm--"

   "*Professor*," Hermione cut him off. Snape looked at her severely, dismayed that she had so little regard for his perfect wording.

   "Professor, then. Despite your enthusiasm, I doubt that Slytherin will be beaten by the Gryffindor team this match. The teams have changed considerably in the years since you first came to this school."

   "All I know is that you're going to be singing karaoke at the Gryffindor victory party," Hermione smirked, oblivious to his reaction as she sampled the freedom of speech granted her by her new position of Charms Mistress. Snape raised an eyebrow.

   "You're trying to bait me, Granger." She sniffed and corrected him.

   "No, I'm just that sure that Gryffindor will win. I have a lot of faith in our new Seeker."

   Something sparked deep in the Potions Master's psyche. He was tired of Gryffindor always having the new, preternaturally good Seeker, the aegis of obvious honor, the God- or Fate-given advantage of *just being right*. "And I--" he growled darkly, scheduling extra practice sessions in his head, "am that sure that they *won't*."

~

   That was the reason why Severus Snape was sitting quietly in a corner of the bar, sipping on the most toxic rotgut the Three Broomsticks had to offer, as the Gryffindor victory party carried on near the front. He looked towards the karaoke machine that had been placed there - the uppity new Seeker was halfway through a heartfelt but tuneless rendition of "My Way" - and back to his drink. He sped up his intake, hoping it would be bracing enough to make him forget why he was there, or at least the way that Gryffindor was mangling his song.

   "You're up next," came a female voice from behind him. Hermione. God, she had changed since her graduation. She actually looked rather nice in this light, not quite so frizzy and-- "You. You're next."

   Snape startled out of his reverie, glad that the alcohol had already brought a masking flush to his sallow skin. He got to his feet, a bit more woozily than he had expected. Trying to be dignified and gracious in his defeat, he asked, "What will my number be this evening?"

   Hermione whispered to him, then smirked with obvious pleasure. Severus choked for a moment and nodded brusquely. His half-empty glass, already well on its way to being set down on the table again, found itself unexpectedly back at his mouth and being drained for courage.

   Outwardly composed, if slightly unsteady, Severus made his way to the karaoke machine, hoping his moment of surprise hadn't been too obvious. He picked up the microphone - unnecessary in the wizarding world but a comforting cliché- and faced the assembled students and light sprinkling of faculty. Concentrating rigidly to keep from weaving in place, he beat down his objections to being further humiliated in defeat by focusing on the importance of his word to the threats he doled out on a daily basis.

   Snape swallowed, almost imperceptibly, and waved the microphone at the speakers of the machine. A strong backbeat began emanating from them, and words materialized at the bottom of his field of vision, spelling out his damning shame in familiar lyrics. His first words were quiet, hesitant. "Oh my God, Becky. Look at her butt."

   When this was met with stunned, anticipatory silence instead of the laughter and ridicule he had been expecting, Severus began to gain more surety. By the time the familiar refrain kicked in, he was beginning to feel the music a bit - and the several glasses of whiskey couldn't have hurt either.

~

   Hermione was still stunned. She had only half expected Snape to hold to his vague agreement - the whiskey really must have done him in. By the time the song was half over, he was practically Sir Mix-a-lot himself - or at least, as close as a painfully dry Potions Master could come to being a derrière-obsessed Muggle rap artist. He had finished the song and then walked straight out the door, disregarding the fact that the audience's surprise had given way to whistles and cheers.

   And he had not come back. Hermione excused herself from the celebration and left the pub, knowing full well that whatever Snape was doing was not her business, but feeling responsible nonetheless.

   She hadn't gone far before noticing a suspicious-looking bush with two black-clad legs sticking out of it amid a swirl of cape. Severus was struggling weakly inside it, only half awake. Oh dear, thought Hermione, this is one of the last things I need. Aided by a few charms, she extracted him from the shrubbery and brushed him off.

   "You there," he mumbled, coming to. "What d'you think you're doing?"

   "*I* am helping you get back to Hogwarts and trying to prevent you from being a public nuisance," Hermione snapped to cover her concern. "You're in no condition to fly yourself home, so you'll be coming with me."

   "I don't need any of your--" Severus drew himself upright, instantly regretting the movement in his churning stomach. "Well..." he braced against the twin awful feelings of nausea and submission, "I suppose I am entitled to a ride home after all of this indignity." Readying her broom, Hermione half-smiled to herself and shook her head, hoping he didn't see.

   The ride home took forever for Hermione, who had to fly slowly and continually steady the broom against the extra weight of Severus in front of her. He, on the other hand, found it rather short, only dimly aware of a soft female form pressed tightly against his back. It was distracting enough to keep his nausea at bay until they reached Hogwarts.

   When they arrived, Hermione could see that Snape was never going to make it to his quarters on his own. He could navigate, though, so she helped him to the Slytherin wing, slipping both charms and arms around him to guide him through the hallways. The spells made easy work of it, and she was proficient enough that she could have used her wand alone to push him on ahead, but it was comforting to him that she held on. It must be, she thought. How awful, to be drunk and incapacitated; but then to have someone to guide you along... Hermione fancied herself something like a guardian angel for a few moments.

   But a guardian angel would not be so acutely aware of things - the strong, wiry feel of his shoulders, the faint spicy smell of his hair that carried through the reek of whiskey that hung about him, the bumping of his bony hip against her side as she walked and he staggered... She tried to concentrate on his less attractive aspects. Snape was, after all, rather sallow and greasy, and decidedly unimproved by his stay in the bar. He was almost comically serious-looking, with a rather odd nose, and thin lips that were so nicely shaped... Argh! She realized where her train of thought had led her again. 

   Hermione was vaguely disgusted with herself for being so conscious of his body when all he cared about, all she *should* care about, was getting him safely into bed. She chalked it up to some kind of strange attraction to the unfamiliar and mysterious, and tried not to think about it at all. In this fashion, they managed the long five minutes that it took to reach his quarters. 

   There, Snape mustered the strength to lean against his doorframe and face her. Hermione looked up at his face, into his dark eyes that were so daring in their glassiness, all other thoughts forgotten, smitten by his rumpled hair and dashing looks. She leaned forward slightly, waiting with bated breath for some utterance from this angelic being. 

   He noticed the young woman gazing into his face, trying to come up with some sort of recognition through the haze of alcohol that was still descending upon him. She was so familiar, and rather pretty... if only she could stop wavering and changing shape like that... "You're a lovely one," Severus exhaled boozily, making a clumsy grab for her waist. "Whassyername again? --Hey! Ouch! ...Hey?"

   Hermione turned on her heel and stormed away from the door she had shut in Severus's face. Dashing, indeed.


End file.
